A Million Miles Away(19)
I just want to tell you that—
I miss you every day. Don’t worry, I am not dating anyone else. I am so full of admiration for your courage. It must be difficult to be away from everything and everyone you know. You are a good person for your service and so are your friends. Trust me, I know how it feels to doubt where you are and why you are even there. Not as much as you but I know a little bit and I promise things will—
I don’t know what I’m saying—
—use bigger words
—find a book that she would read
—this is crazy
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The narrow streets up Mount Oread filled with carefully coiffed couples who met outside their brick mansions and traveled in packs to the party at the top of the hill. Mount Oread was the area of KU’s campus where the fraternities and sororities had settled. Kelsey stood at the picture window of the Delta Sigma house, watching her future counterparts in heels and crimson and blue beads step on the sweeping lawn toward the white columns, holding drinks.
Inside, a pair of ESPN announcers loomed over the dining hall on a flat screen. Girls and guys who had begun the day looking like they walked off the cover of a J. Crew catalog had dissolved into a red-faced gaggle of haphazard warriors, ties around heads, Oxfords unbuttoned, screaming obscenities at a shot of the Missouri student section.
Davis was among them. A T-shirt that he had made himself read HOW DO YOU GET A MISSOURI GRADUATE OFF YOUR PORCH? PAY FOR THE PIZZA. The guys slapped their arms around him and the girls kissed him on the cheek. His plan to crash at the fraternity seemed to have been sidelined by actually enjoying the fraternity. He couldn’t help it, Kelsey knew. The only thing Davis liked better than making people laugh was making people laugh at parties, and there seemed to be a new one every other day.
As a whistle blew and the announcer shouted, the college students jumped together in a line, a soup of crimson and blue T-shirts with Greek letters.
“Lawrence, Kansas, and Columbia, Missouri. Two college towns, sweet and small, nice downtowns, just a few hours’ drive from one another across the Kansas River. Peaceful, right? Heck, I’ve heard this area called Flyover Country. But boy, if you could be here in Kemper Arena tonight, you’d never know it. The energy is practically visible in the hatred between these crowds, folks. Crimson and blue, black and gold, clashing in the air, and it is deafening. The Kansas Jayhawks and the Missouri Tigers meet in the middle for their Border Showdown, and this has gone beyond basketball. This is war.”
War. Kelsey was thinking of Peter. This was such a small, silly version of “war.” She took a large sip of her rum and Coke.
Kelsey was wearing a Jayhawks jersey she had belted into a dress. She joined in the fight song, clapping at the right parts.
A girl all in blue, her black hair in a bundle of braids, set her drink next to Kelsey’s. At a second glance, Kelsey noticed the words emblazoned on her warm-up jacket.
“Excuse me,” Kelsey said, raising her voice above the din.
The girl turned, revealing brown eyes and polished lips.
“Are you a Rock Chalk Dancer?” It made sense a few of them would be partying; not every dancer traveled with the team.
Though she was shorter than Kelsey, she had a way of appearing taller. Perfect posture. “I am.”
Kelsey stuck out her hand. “I’m Kelsey. I’ll be trying out in the spring.”
The girl cocked her head. “Are you? Then what’s that in your hand?”
Kelsey looked down at her rum and Coke, feeling her face turn hot. “I’m not drinking—I’m just here to watch the game. My boyfriend is—”
The students joined in with the blare of the Rock Chalk Chant through the TV, gaining volume with each verse.
The girl got closer, yelling into her ear. “Did I ask who your boyfriend is?”
“No, but—” Kelsey’s mouth fell slack, unable to form words.
The girl’s face broke into a smile, and then a full-on laugh. “I’m messing with you.”
“Oh.” Kelsey’s heart was still beating out of her chest, though she wasn’t quite sure why. She allowed herself a smile, and joined in another round of the fight song. Clap, clap, clap, clap-clap-clap. She and the girl paused conversation and dutifully yelled, “Go, Hawks!”
“I’m Nicki.” She grabbed Kelsey’s hand and shook it. “Hey!” She gestured to another pair of girls in blue warm-up jackets. A redhead and a blonde approached them, holding drinks, filling the surrounding air with different perfumes. Their solid thighs filled their jeans and their lower abs were visible under their cropped shirts. And I thought I was in shape, Kelsey mused.
Nicki pointed at them one by one. “This is Missy, sprained ankle, this is Jen, pulled hamstring. Everybody, this is Kelsey. Cheers!”
The girls lifted their red cups. Kelsey felt the stares of surrounding partygoers and gulped the rest of her drink down.
Nicki nodded toward her. “Kelsey’s trying out.”
The redhead, Missy, gave a whoop. “Good for you! Are you ready?”
Before Kelsey could answer, Jen, the blonde, leaned toward her and touched her hair in its bun. “Whatever you do, make sure you do your hair.”
“Totally,” Missy said. “I got a blowout last year. Completely ruined by sweat the first routine. It was worth it, though. The girls wearing plain ponytails might as well have not even been there. The captains, like, barely looked up from their clipboards during their dances.”